A bit of praise

Four months ago, I could barely walk across my kitchen. One month ago, I marched, along with thousands of others, from the Bank of England to Parliament Square. A march of protest against austerity, but for me another protest too: against ill health with the physical proof that I could walk the length of the march. So, did I make it?

On Monday, I posted about our housing problems. By Wednesday, we were finally placed in the highest priority band for housing. Now it is Friday. Only five days later and here today, a perfect example of how families like ours are treated. We used to have a wonderful social worker named Beverly. She was a force of nature. My housing issue would never have been an issue. She would have handled it on our behalf. That’s how good social work is meant to work. As an example, Lambeth are meant to pay us “direct payments” towards our care worker twice a month. Over the course of...

On Monday, I published a post about our housing situation. The media picked it up and it wasn’t long before the Allocations and Verifications Team Manager for Lambeth left me a voicemail message. In it, she asked me to email some documents over to start the process to move us to the higher band. She said she’d follow up with an email explaining what was needed and where to send it. That day? No email. The next day? No email. Wednesday, again. No email. Because, that’s the way, isn’t it? That’s exactly the problem. We can talk about the lack of housing,...

I am the face of this blog. As such, people often tell me how much they admire my dedication to May. What people don’t realize is that my husband deserves much of the credit. My husband is May’s main caregiver. Her bather. Her chef. Her afternoon sleeping companion. She’s watched a full Tour de France. Twice. All because she spends so much time with him. “This is the song that proved May has better taste in music than you, Stacie,” is a typical aside in our conversation. And May does genuinely has a more eclectic taste in music than I do. Why? Because she spends...

…and swapping it for an Anthony Nolan Trust one. And here he is! Wearing his brand new Anthony Nolan Trust racing top for the charity cycle he is doing in my name. It’s my last day of the first round of my new chemotherapy – one week on, three weeks off. To say I’m thrilled to see the back of this place for a few weeks is an understatement. The chemotherapy day unit is one of the most depressing holes I’ve had the pleasure of being made to wait three hours for a five minute treatment in. Or, spa treatment as I insist my doctor calls it. Which she does. Why not...